WE BELIEVE IN NOTHING, LEBOWSKI

I have ideas.

And yet, I cannot do anything about those various ideas, because I'm still suffering from an epic bout of burnout, the likes of which I find difficult to accurately portray. Every time I attempt to concentrate on something, my brain immediately recoils in horror, as if I've stared too long into the abyss, and rather than simply seeing the abyss "stare back at me," a voice in my head shouts:

"You're still coming off a year-long sprint, and everyone and their god-forsaken mom made it as difficult as possible for you to complete said sprint, and if you even think of doing anything other than absolutely nothing, I'm gonna hate fuck every single brain cell you have into submission."

Ooooooookay. That's as close as I can get to describing it. Regardless, here we remain.

The lesson, I think, is "No more sprinting." There's a 4x compo coming up in two weeks, and I grudgingly missed the last one, so I may have to just jump in and push through the malaise. 

After all, I have ideas.